#fillespreferees

[incendiums]

Convictions of a Steadfast Star { Cigyun || Kurth

[ Prince Kurth of Grannvale — Friend. If Nothing Else ]

What undoes Kurth is the fact that the stars are unmoving, as they are steadfast in their gaze and unfaltering in their path across the sky. The refinements of polished society suit her well—it reflects in her manner of poise and the way her eyes give off a silent, faithful glow in the direction of another. His dear friend has the means to undo Kurth, and she does so every time she plants her heels on cold tile, waiting for warmth to reach her roots. It struck him odd that she would not allow herself to come apart, no matter how roughly her husband tugged at her loose threads.

What warmth could come to a star who could not come apart, but sought the orbit of another?

He descended the stairs, waving off the troves of socialites and advisors biting at his heels for something more than he was. His footsteps clacked with a well-tempered warmth, of which he'd gladly trade his friend in exchange for her gaze to falter— just once. The pianoforte was close enough for him to tease. "Are you willing to play for me, Cigyun?" She had no need to— but the vision of her dancing away at ivory keys was delightful. "I jest. I would never put you on the spot like that."

Kurth could not help but cast the corner of his gaze on the unsightly philandering of one such Victor Velthomer, but he refrained from mentioning his disagreeable countenance. The infamous man had another woman hanging off his arms, as though his footwork could attract every insatiable flower aside from the one that was actually his. Kurth's gaze followed the soft glow of Cigyun's curls instead, as his chest lifted in prim, composed pride. "You know as well as I that your good humor belongs on the ballroom floor."

Extending his ever steady hand in her direction, he wondered if he had any right to deign her an unfaltering star. What exactly would that make him? (Cut from the same velvet, perhaps? What right did he have to intervene then?) Kurth was hardly in tune with his own expressions, as the soft crinkle of his eyes cracked through his more stoic countenance. His reputation of being straighter than an arrow could almost be deemed a mistake in good company.

Kurth's hand extended, falling away from his own trajectory into hers.

"Would you do me the honor of reserving your next dance for me? I cannot mistake a great moment of happiness when I see one."

@fillespreferees

[prosebrne-arc]

it was a wedding day that brought her;   defiant to death’s hand as she was summoned upon stone at the arch of a gateway door.   it was a summoner and their royal companions that welcomed her into this new,   strange country;   askr,   it was called.   selphina greeted them as a proper leonster would,   and kept her head high as she was led through corridors and pathways behind the sun’s pupil herself,   princess sharena.   selphina was always a friend before a wife,   then a mother;   she listened well to princess sharena’s tour.   of course, the whereabouts of her husband outshone most of her internal thoughts,   for if she was a bride in this ceremony then where was the groom she was to fight beside?

even at the end of the tour,   selphina did not find her husband.   she found her.

leonster pride in her smile,   attire alike that the very same of their meeting together.   selphina quickly bid princess sharena a farewell,   clutching dearly to her skirts as she rushed off in graceful steps.   it was her,   that she was certain of.   prince alfonse had spoken of the many heroes of other worlds,   those of hers and those that were not.   but he had never spoken of the dead.   even now, as selphina caught up to the courtyard,   entranced by the sight of flowers curled around the fountain,   there was nothing dead about the pink   -   haired lady standing before her.

“   ethlyn...   is that you?   ”   selphina whispered,   her chest heaving despite the unwavering steadiness of her voice.   she trembled when the lady turned towards her,   only then aware of the wetness of her face,   the stinging in her eyes.   she swore not to cry,   not to herself or glade or any of her dear friends.   but...

“   oh ethlyn—   ”   another cry left her as she closed the distance,   throwing her arms around ethlyn’s shoulders and knocking her weight carelessly into the other’s.   it was not a ghost,   she knew this upon the first touch.   this ethlyn did not disappear when selphina called her name.   she did not come alive for but a moment,   if only to taunt her.   it took moments for selphina to remember who it was that she had been crying against.   reluctant,   selphina pulled back,   raising her head from the crook of ethlyn’s neck and shoulder.   “   ethlyn,   you...   is this because of askr’s gates?   ”   her hand rose,   too,   brushing ethlyn’s cheek gently with the back of her fingers.

selphina laughed and wiped her tears,   ignorant to the newer tears that fell then,   “   do you remember me?   it’s selphina!   your dearest friend...   ”

/   (   @fillespreferees  ,  selphina  &  ethlyn   )   (   starter call   )

[legendspun]

[PICK] the sender helps pick up something the receiver dropped. ((Guinivere for Fae!))

meet meme | open

Miss Guinevere was a lot like Mr. Roy, Fae thought. They both looked at her with kind eyes, and told her to stay safe during battles and so she really liked them! But Igrene had said they were some of the most important people on this important mission so Fae wasn't allowed to ask them to play like the others.

(Miss Guinevere's eyes were kind, but Fae noticed they were most often sad. She really wished they could play.)

Igrene used to go on missions, and Fae is happy just to be on one with her. Outside, like she's always wanted! She isn't quite sure what's going on in this one besides collecting weapons and fighting the bad men from Bern. Maybe if she paid more attention to Igrene's lessons she could help Miss Guinevere more?

But those thoughts like many of Fae's so often scatter in the wind like the leaves she's been collecting. Her arms are full of the leaves, each a different, changing color but the mountain path they are all on causes her to trip and her favorite red one almost flies away until Miss Guinevere catches it and holds it out to Fae.

"Thank you," the little manakete chirps, holding out one hand. She stills though, looking from her other arm filled with leaves to the perfect red one resting in Guinevere's otherwise empty hand. Fae covers that hand with her own, gently.

"Do you want to keep it? It was going to be Fae's treasure but look there are so many! This one can be Guinevere's treasure."

[incendiums]

[ Victor Velthomer — Husband, almost. (Trust him, won't you?) ]

To be honest, it's almost unfair how bottomless desire is, like an ache that snakes down the length of his soul only to never find a foothold. It aches, it yearns, it writhes in emptiness, and yet it finds comfort in simple pleasures in place of substantial ones. Victor never needed to prove to the world he was full. Twenty-six and full of vigor, he just needed to prove his smirk could still charm (empty as it was) and his fingers could still wrap around the little notch of a woman's wrist (as starved as they were.) He wants because he is as he is. He is because he wants as he wants.

And the moment her soft cherub skin and slender neck let off a pale light under the torches, he felt renewed. What a bastard he was, Victor thought, with a smirk striking his lips. He craved company. But more than that, he suffered the grand affliction of human desire. Hell— (he whistled as he crossed the street, twirling his walking stick)—maybe he was in the mood for love.

The rain anchored on in silence.

Clicking his tongue, even a bold-faced lie like that was enough for him to roll his eyes. Right. Even he couldn't believe that. Now... where had she gone? Victor had never seen the likes of her around these parts, and he had pressed his hands into every notch he could manage. So it could only mean one thing—she did not know her worth quite yet. Sad, pretty little pair of eyes she was. As he spotted tufts of her lavender locks disappearing into Wolfbane's Swill, he quickened his pace to make sure she wasn't snared by the usual riff-raff around these parts. She couldn't be eaten alive like that—not when his desire was infinitely more refined than the likes of incorrigible trash.

Now... what was it? Should he give her ten more seconds? Counting down right in front of the establishment's doors, he endeavored to stay back just long enough for trouble to brew. In fact, he took off his cap and held the sopping thing out from under the roof. (Three... two...) Pushing the doors open with relative ease, Victor sighed at the ever predictable lack of wit that was shared by the trash around these parts. And he pressed his walking stick into the blundering fool's shoulder. "What's a woman got to keep warm with, when you don't have half a wit to light even a candle?"

The stranger reared around with his fists tight, only to meet a soaking wet cap to the face. A slip of fingers rolled around the pretty, little wrist of a woman who did not know her worth quite yet. "Run, dear girl! Run!" The first shared glance they had was one where he couldn't help but grin instead of scowl—in retrospect, her gemstone eyes had his greed acting shamelessly. He scoffed in amusement, pulling her away from a mere fool's grasp into his and forcing her to follow him out the doors.

"Hungry as you are, you can't enter a wolves' den, you know!" Shooting her an entertained look over his shoulder, he rushed both of them under one roof to the next. They scattered like coins, catching the sprinkling rain on the ends of their coats and low-hanging skirts. It was a curse to be winded after just a little run (pathetic, really), but he hadn't had this kind of rush in such a long time. He supposed it was worth it.

"The name is Victor." He managed to introduce himself, winded as he was. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he rolled his hand into hers and squeezed it to his gold threaded tunic. "And what of you, my pearl?"

"If you're tired from your travels, I could take you to my home. It's better than being eaten alive."

@fillespreferees

@incendiums

Growing up in the Spirit Forest Village had never been simple but, as Cigyun grew into adulthood, it became impossible.  With only her caretakers for company, she’s grown restless.  The air began to suffocate and the treeline began to close in until there was only one thing she could think to do to remedy her situation and, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, Cigyun ran away.

She knew the risks.  She’d been told her whole life about the curse of her blood.  She knew what would be done to her if her Loptyrian heritage was discovered.  But she could be careful!  She could keep it hidden!  And truly, she had been willing to risk it all for a taste of the freedom denied to her by the circumstances of her birth.

It was still an impulsive choice.  A moment of teenage rebellion without planning.  And now Cigyun finds herself cold, hungry, lost, and alone.  It is not the glamorous and exciting life she had imagined for herself.  She is free to see the world and live as she pleases but she had not considered what she would need to take care of herself.

After days of travel, she happens upon a tavern and inn.  It’s clearly been established to give travelers a place to rest off the main road.  As night rolls in, the skies open up and rain begins to pour down.  She cannot imagine spending another night out under the open sky in weather like this and her belly does grumble loudly.  Drawn by the lights inside and the smell of cooking food, Cigyun ventures inside.

She avoids eye contact as she enters and pretends she does not notice the way men stare as she approaches the innkeeper at the bar.  “Please sir, I only have a few gold pieces but I can cook and clean.  I just need a place to stay tonight.  It doesn’t even have to be a bed!”

A stranger leans in with a wicked grin and takes hold of her by the arm.  “No worries love.  Keep your gold and come share a bed with me!  I’ll keep you warm all night long.”

“Th-that is kind,” she stammers as she tenses, “but I can’t.  Please.  L-let me go!”

[sunsinger]

@fillespreferees​

( “ what if i never see you again? ” ) Her son gives voice to her own fears. What will happen when their service to Askr has ended? Seliph has a kingdom to return to and people who need him. And she...she does not know if there even is somewhere for her to return.

But a smile remains on her face. She's smiled through her pain for him before when Sigurd left them behind in Augusti with Shannan and she will smile for him now. He should not need to see the turmoil inside her heart. She is his mother and she must be strong for him.

Deirdre reaches for her first born and pulls him in close. "Then we shall just have to make the very most of this time we have been given." One hand gently combs through the soft waves of his hair and she kisses his cheek. "I have missed so much. Will you tell me everything? Let me feel as though I have been a part of your life all along."

∘₊✧── she is ethereal, his mother. he had seen it in his dreams before, glimpsed a suggestion at what she may have looked like, but to actually see the woman that he had heard so much about...

there is a comfort in her arms that suddenly makes him feel incomprehensibly small -- makes the world as a whole vanish, fade further and further away until there is nothing left to it but her loving warmth.

“of course,” his voice is quiet, careful not to disrupt the moment for fear of it truly having been nothing more than another dream. seliph smiles at the affection, turning his face just so slightly away in that manner of a shy child. for he may be a king -- the proclaimed scion of light -- but here and now he is allowed what war had denied him the right to be.

a son. 

“my entire life you have guided me from afar,” his hands reach for one of hers, cupping it gently as though the most precious thing his own have ever touched, “thank you, mother.”

[cavaliant]

“We always have a choice.” ((Deirdre for Sigurd?))

Sentence meme

"Of course we do" is his immediate response, yet Sigurd pauses for a moment, to better reflect on her remark. As impulsive as he's told he is, as much of a whirlwind as their relationship might be - it's something he wouldn't trade for the world, and he wants to nurture it in every way that he can.

"Deirdre, my beloved. You and I both have all the choices in the world before us, no matter what our pasts, others, or even 'destiny' may say. It is our choices up till now that have led us to each other...and if you wish it, it will be our choice from now on to pursue our future together, with our hearts as one. But know this - whichever path you choose, I intend to honour my vow to protect you, whether from fear or from even fate itself."

[seraphiam]

@fillespreferees

sigurd stares up at the high vaulted ceilings of belhalla castle, trying to make sense of his current predicament. he’s lost track of how long it’s been since he and his army faced the wrath of meteor. how long had he been stuck here in belhalla castle, unable to interact with any of the people that passed him by? for all intents and purposes he is nothing but a ghost to the people around him— though he craves human interaction, it is never given to him.

if he did not know any better, he would think this some kind of hell meant only for him. however, there is one thing that keeps him going, and it is the occasional presence of his beloved deirdre. he had been so distressed upon seeing her the first time, had reached for her shoulder and had his arm pass straight through her body. he had cried that very first time, for she was so tantalizingly close but just out of his reach.

now though, as sigurd had been given sometime to process what had happened, he vowed to watch over her within the castle— for as long as he was stuck here. he could do nothing if she was ever truly in danger, but being without her for so long just being around her was enough to calm the anxiety in his mind— especially so after he had realized why she did not seem to recognize him at that fateful day of belhalla.

she did not remember him— her memories of him taken away by someone or something. sigurd pauses, turning his head at the sound of a door opening. speak of the devil, deirdre herself. he watches her for a moment, pointlessly moving out of the way (he would just pass through her, anyways.) as she walks in his direction.

[enfabled-archive]

            it's not often that he finds himself so uneasy within the borders of dakia. he's lived in the forest long enough that it's begun to feel like an extension of himself. he knows it better than the back of his hand; each gnarled root, each boot-trodden path of grass etched deep into the back of his eyes. dakia forest is the kingdom of which he is sovereign— never did he feel so skittish at its throne.

            and yet, as he patrols this humid night, he is fussful. careful in a way that he rarely ever is. the dandelion king walks the same route, traces the skirt of the woods with the same steps. but his feet lack the confidence. his eyes skip side-to-side with mistrust. where his rounds were usually strolls— moreso a contented meandering 'round dakia's borderline, complacency abound in the way its safety seemed always guaranteed— it has turned into a march.

            perne keeps a hand on his sword, fingers drumming against its pommel. THOSE IMPERIAL FREAKS… they were getting a bit brave, looming closer and closer to his turf like that. he's heard about what they've done to tahra— even seen the horrors for himself, from some of the fleeing townsfolk. then there's also the childhunts; the fucking insanity of the childhunts. he doesn't like the sound of that coming into dakia. not when their operations were risky enough as it is.

            he sighs as he steps over a fallen log. his eyes survey the darkness once more. he never liked this feeling. fear; anxiety, whatever else people called it. he never liked the way it kept him on a leash. but it's the one thing keeping them all from doing anything STUPID. if fear made him careful, and being careful meant being alive… he'd take it. anyone who wasn't shit for brains would.

            unfortunately for him, there are some real dunces in this world— like the brat blindly stumbling through his forest.

            he flinches when he first hears the footsteps. his restless hands quickly unsheathe his blade. but just as soon as he readies himself, he returns to a semblance of ease. the sounds are too clumsy to come from any sort of trained militiaman; and the shadow is too small to be anything dangerous. no, it's clear to him that this wasn't any sort of idiot— it was a kid.

              a curse almost wrests loose from his lips. he thinks dealing with an imperial soldier would've been easier. at least, then, he wouldn't have felt bad stabbing him.

            "oi, kid!" perne calls, "whatcha doin' out here? don't cha know it's dangerous wanderin'  around at night?"

            a groan leaves him. as if he hadn’t had enough things to worry about tonight. does he really have to think about this snot, too? "look, i ain’t got the time to deal with ya. scram! go back home. else those loptr lunatics'll snatch you right up."

@fillespreferees​ c’mon, before safy finds out!

[prosebrne-arc]

from @fillespreferees​   :   ❛   thanks for being here with me.   ❜   ((   Ethlyn for Selphina?   ))

askr feels all like a dream to the leonster,   and reality only continues to confuse her each morning when ethlyn is the first face that greets her.   this morning is a slow one; neither askran princess, prince, or commander have barged into the barracks with the urgency of a task.   ethlyn was there,   near selphina’s bed,   when she opened her eyes,   and she’s still there when the leonster awakens from dozing off.   an ungloved hand pulls gently at her cobalt tresses;   selphina sighs and tilts her head against ethlyn’s hand.   it is a silent,   slow morning,   but she knows well enough that they both deserve each long moment.

(   you feel at peace.   )   selphina hears ethlyn’s murmur through the fog in her head.   (   you no longer hear the crash of bells in the aftermath of meeting her eyes.   if it took an unrelenting clutch on her to heal your heart then you would stick to her as if the fates would have it no other way.   )   she blinks at ethlyn, legs curling up beneath the duvet as a bit of air slips beneath it.   her hands are still in her hair when selphina registers her words with a gentle hand reaching for her cheek.

she ignores the memory that burns at her eyes.   “   no,   do not thank me.   ”   she whispers,   because it truly could not have been her will thought brought them both together.   if anything,   it was a gift from the fates in response to selphina’s loyalty to leonster;   to ethlyn.   but still,   it was nothing of selphina’s.   it was not a conscious decision.   “   i hadn’t ... nothing of my doing had brought me here.   it is a blessing of askr.   ”

her thumb rubs ethlyn’s cheek and she laughs,   a melodic sound of chimes and joy.   “   but, thank you for coming back to me.   ”

broken words cling onto your tongue—   thank you for all you’ve done,   for me,   for your family.   (   and you would say it to her if not for the guilt in your throat.   )   she feels the tears before they have the chance to fall.   selphina moves out of ethlyn’s hold with another laugh,   her hands wiping away at her dry face as she rises from the pillows.   she no longer feels sorrow,   but some emotion akin to it gnaws at her.   she doesn’t have the time to identify—   and truly,   she isn’t sure if she’ll ever want to.

“   up with you!   ”   selphina teases,   a loving smile on her lips as she swats at ethlyn’s shoulder.   “   are you not hungry?   i’d rather cry with food in my stomach,   so let’s see what the kitchen has today.   ”

[incendiums]

A tinge of pink dusts across Cigyun’s face as she imagines playing a duet with Kurth.  They’d sit together, laughing as their hands continue to bump into each other.  Ah, she’d like that very much.  Perhaps she will hold him to such a promise another time when there are less prying eyes and less jealous husbands about.

She sucks in a breath as the prince’s thumb rubs against her hand.  It’s rather bold of him but she quite likes it.  Kurth has a certain charm to him that Victor could never dream to emulate.  Everything he does is so genuine. From the way he looks at her to the way he inquires about her thoughts. Victor drew her to him with honeyed words and empty promises. Kurth only needs to smile.

But she cannot be drawn to him at all!

And yet she still allows herself to be tempted as she is led onto the dance floor. It could easily be mistaken for something innocent by an onlooker if they did not know the secrets her heart keeps. It is simply a kind man taking pity on a lonely woman who has not had a dance all evening. But she smiles brighter for him than she has in ages and she laughs at his attempt at humor. When was the last time she laughed like this? And as the distance between two friends closes, she wishes he would pull her closer still.

“Far better now that you are here,” Cigyun keeps her voice at a whisper, glad for the music to keep any prying ears from listening. “Perhaps we ought to trade places, hm? I shall try to charm your advisors and you watch as my lord husband adds another pearl to his collection.” She sighs and forces her eyes to keep from straying toward the woman with Victor. “Forgive me. That was a terribly ugly thing to say. I would love to hear more about your flowers. The gardens here at Belhalla have always been lovely. I’d like to see them again before I must return to Velthomer.”

[ Prince Kurth of Grannvale ]

He dared to pry into her lovely eyes, as loneliness was an ailment only cured by company. Kurth could only wish to tell her that whatever ugly emotion left her lips was prone to heartbreak, to the tatters of a worn silk, but never truly poison. Not to him. He was of the notion that she need not be idealized, only cared for, seen, for who she was. It was in these moments he thanked Naga that she un-assumed all the masks of society for him. "I can hardly imagine that under all the masks you must wear, that I should require you to put on another. Let yourself be, dear Cigyun. You are in no wrong, feeling as you do." Kurth leaned in gently, allowing a quiet breath to be shared between them.

It was a little known fact, but the sheer bitterness of her voice could only be mirrored by the pit in his stomach. It only grew in times like these, when Victor Velthomer knew no pride but the one hanging below his filthy belt. He wanted nothing more than to watch Cigyun, strong as she was, vibrant as she was, to one day tear through the string and watch those pearled stars fall out of place.

Changing strides, as easily as a sea of morning glories, he turns them thrice fold, sifting them in lovely, rounded pivots. Her skirts flounced, ribbons and pearls curling and catching against candle light. His closest friend always did have enough light in her eyes to carry the entire ballroom on her shoulders. She was like a pillar of indominable hope, in a world hardened by the fallible truth, and the infallible lies. "Perhaps I will allow you to speak briefly on my behalf then. You may be able to convince them to allow me just a slight budget. We are not so poor that we should neglect our people's more gentler inclinations."

His smile was showing the same gleam he had when he prided himself of a bad joke. But even when it was all in jest, he wondered if something like that would work. Kurth wasn't a fool, but a strategist after all. "Nevermind that." The hand pressed to her side, clasped at her hip ever affectionately. It was so effortless to dance as though they knew each other to the very core, and as though their hands knew the ease of familiarity. "Though if it would please you..." Guiding his other hand to turn her towards the center of the floor, where all could witness them. "Perhaps we ought to visit my private garden. I haven't taken you in quite some time."

"If you find yourself in need of distraction, you may write to me—that I should return the favor, twofold." A fond twinkle in his eye never left her sight.

@fillespreferees

A tinge of pink dusts across Cigyun’s face as she imagines playing a duet with Kurth.  They’d sit together, laughing as their hands continue to bump into each other.  Ah, she’d like that very much.  Perhaps she will hold him to such a promise another time when there are less prying eyes and less jealous husbands about.

She sucks in a breath as the prince’s thumb rubs against her hand.  It’s rather bold of him but she quite likes it.  Kurth has a certain charm to him that Victor could never dream to emulate.  Everything he does is so genuine. From the way he looks at her to the way he inquires about her thoughts. Victor drew her to him with honeyed words and empty promises. Kurth only needs to smile.

But she cannot be drawn to him at all!

And yet she still allows herself to be tempted as she is led onto the dance floor. It could easily be mistaken for something innocent by an onlooker if they did not know the secrets her heart keeps. It is simply a kind man taking pity on a lonely woman who has not had a dance all evening. But she smiles brighter for him than she has in ages and she laughs at his attempt at humor. When was the last time she laughed like this? And as the distance between two friends closes, she wishes he would pull her closer still.

“Far better now that you are here,” Cigyun keeps her voice at a whisper, glad for the music to keep any prying ears from listening. “Perhaps we ought to trade places, hm? I shall try to charm your advisors and you watch as my lord husband adds another pearl to his collection.” She sighs and forces her eyes to keep from straying toward the woman with Victor. “Forgive me. That was a terribly ugly thing to say. I would love to hear more about your flowers. The gardens here at Belhalla have always been lovely. I’d like to see them again before I must return to Velthomer.”

[ Prince Kurth of Grannvale ]

He dared to pry into her lovely eyes, as loneliness was an ailment only cured by company. Kurth could only wish to tell her that whatever ugly emotion left her lips was prone to heartbreak, to the tatters of a worn silk, but never truly poison. Not to him. He was of the notion that she need not be idealized, only cared for, seen, for who she was. It was in these moments he thanked Naga that she un-assumed all the masks of society for him. "I can hardly imagine that under all the masks you must wear, that I should require you to put on another. Let yourself be, dear Cigyun. You are in no wrong, feeling as you do." Kurth leaned in gently, allowing a quiet breath to be shared between them.

It was a little known fact, but the sheer bitterness of her voice could only be mirrored by the pit in his stomach. It only grew in times like these, when Victor Velthomer knew no pride but the one hanging below his filthy belt. He wanted nothing more than to watch Cigyun, strong as she was, vibrant as she was, to one day tear through the string and watch those pearled stars fall out of place.

Changing strides, as easily as a sea of morning glories, he turns them thrice fold, sifting them in lovely, rounded pivots. Her skirts flounced, ribbons and pearls curling and catching against candle light. His closest friend always did have enough light in her eyes to carry the entire ballroom on her shoulders. She was like a pillar of indominable hope, in a world hardened by the fallible truth, and the infallible lies. "Perhaps I will allow you to speak briefly on my behalf then. You may be able to convince them to allow me just a slight budget. We are not so poor that we should neglect our people's more gentler inclinations."

His smile was showing the same gleam he had when he prided himself of a bad joke. But even when it was all in jest, he wondered if something like that would work. Kurth wasn't a fool, but a strategist after all. "Nevermind that." The hand pressed to her side, clasped at her hip ever affectionately. It was so effortless to dance as though they knew each other to the very core, and as though their hands knew the ease of familiarity. "Though if it would please you..." Guiding his other hand to turn her towards the center of the floor, where all could witness them. "Perhaps we ought to visit my private garden. I haven't taken you in quite some time."

"If you find yourself in need of distraction, you may write to me—that I should return the favor, twofold." A fond twinkle in his eye never left her sight.

@fillespreferees

[fillespreferees]

incendiums​:

[ Prince Kurth of Grannvale ]

He dared to pry into her lovely eyes, as loneliness was an ailment only cured by company. Kurth could only wish to tell her that whatever ugly emotion left her lips was prone to heartbreak, to the tatters of a worn silk, but never truly poison. Not to him. He was of the notion that she need not be idealized, only cared for, seen, for who she was. It was in these moments he thanked Naga that she un-assumed all the masks of society for him. “I can hardly imagine that under all the masks you must wear, that I should require you to put on another. Let yourself be, dear Cigyun. You are in no wrong, feeling as you do.” Kurth leaned in gently, allowing a quiet breath to be shared between them.

It was a little known fact, but the sheer bitterness of her voice could only be mirrored by the pit in his stomach. It only grew in times like these, when Victor Velthomer knew no pride but the one hanging below his filthy belt. He wanted nothing more than to watch Cigyun, strong as she was, vibrant as she was, to one day tear through the string and watch those pearled stars fall out of place.

Changing strides, as easily as a sea of morning glories, he turns them thrice fold, sifting them in lovely, rounded pivots. Her skirts flounced, ribbons and pearls curling and catching against candle light. His closest friend always did have enough light in her eyes to carry the entire ballroom on her shoulders. She was like a pillar of indominable hope, in a world hardened by the fallible truth, and the infallible lies. “Perhaps I will allow you to speak briefly on my behalf then. You may be able to convince them to allow me just a slight budget. We are not so poor that we should neglect our people’s more gentler inclinations.”

His smile was showing the same gleam he had when he prided himself of a bad joke. But even when it was all in jest, he wondered if something like that would work. Kurth wasn’t a fool, but a strategist after all. “Nevermind that.” The hand pressed to her side, clasped at her hip ever affectionately. It was so effortless to dance as though they knew each other to the very core, and as though their hands knew the ease of familiarity. “Though if it would please you…” Guiding his other hand to turn her towards the center of the floor, where all could witness them. “Perhaps we ought to visit my private garden. I haven’t taken you in quite some time.”

“If you find yourself in need of distraction, you may write to me—that I should return the favor, twofold.” A fond twinkle in his eye never left her sight.

@fillespreferees

Kurth claims she can remove her masks for him and perhaps she can with most of them.  She does not have to play the role of obedient wife or perfect mother or graceful duchess.  He does not expect her to be perfect and even encourages her to let her imperfections shine through.  It breaks her heart that she must continue to hide her biggest secret from her dearest friend.  He is the scion of Saint Heim, the inheritor of the Book of Naga.  Cigyun shudders to think how his opinion of her might change if he ever learned of the dark blood that flows through her own veins.  

Could he still care for her if she bared her soul completely for him?

Cigyun isn’t given much time to consider that.  She is far too distracted by the way Kurth leans in just slightly.  Her heart races and she must fight to keep her breaths steady.  She wonders if he knows just what he does to her.  It would be so easy to give in to base emotion and allow herself to see him as more than just a friend but she is better than that.  She is better than her bastard of a husband.  

“Thank you, Kurth,” she whispers close to his ear lest anyone else hear just how familiar she is with the crown prince of her country.  It’s hardly proper but, with how kind he has always been to her, it is hard not to see him as a friend first and a superior second.  “I do not know how I would manage to suffer through these things without your constant support.  I’d have no dances if it weren’t for you.  Everyone else is far too fearful of Lord Victor’s jealous wrath.”

The prince continues leading their dance and turns them away from her husband and the pretty young thing he’s managed to snare in his net, pulling Cigyun’s eyes from them and allowing her to focus solely on him.  He smiles and, as bitter as her heart has become, she always finds herself able to smile with him.  “If you thought it would work and that your advisors would listen to anything I have to say, I hope you know that I would glady lend my voice to your cause.”

Their dance continues and this time he leads her into the center of the dance floor.  She can feel the eyes of the other attendees on her as she is twirled about but they are not the typical looks of pity.  No, these are curious glances as they undoubtedly wonder why Prince Kurth chooses to dance with a married woman and not any of the eligible young ladies in attendance.  

One particular set of eyes burn with anger hotter than the fires of Valflame as prince smiles effortlessly and invites her to his private gardens. Cigyun might almost enjoy her husband's fury if she did not know all too intimately what it is like to be on the receiving end of his wrath. He is far too cowardly to ever say something to the prince himself but his wife is different. She is his and he knows that she knows it.

"It would please me very much," she agrees anyway, Victor be damned. His temper is a small price to pay for an intimate moment alone with Kurth. "Would you take me before I am dragged home? I would like to have something pleasant to remember while waiting for your letter. Tonight even? If my husband and your father are distracted enough that we might skip away unnoticed?"